Jakob was the name they call him. He sat at his usual seat by the bar in this little shack just outside the tourist compound of the Lobo Wildlife Lodge. The two scars on the right side of his face were barely visible from the sweat and the dimness of the bar, where American oldies were being played to the turn of the ceiling fans. It was just after sunset and it was still incredibly hot. The usual crowd hadn't arrived yet, but his friend, Charles, just walked in and, having spoken to the bartender, approaches Jakob with a big smile, as usual. "Hello my man Jakob!" said the short Kenyan to the park ranger. He grabbed Jakob's free hand and gave him a tight hug. The tall, Maasi Jakob forced a smile and gripped his friend's offered hand tight.
"What's happened to you, Jakob? Mbaatu over there said you've been here the whole day, since this morning, just sitting there like a zombie but not drinking all the whiskey in the house!" said the Kenyan, still smiling as he sat next to his friend. After he ordered his glass of Scotch on the rocks, his park ranger friend murmured, "Just wasting my time, like usual."
"That ain't true, my man. You are always out there, driving around your beat-up jeep, looking for trouble," said his friend and laughing.
"Trouble, yeah, lots of trouble," said the Maasi, not smiling anymore, and then downed his last drop of bourbon.
"Hey, what's wrong with you? You got in trouble? Those poachers shot back at you this time?" asked his friend, looking more serious now.
"No, not like that. They've been behaving. Not sure why. Maybe they've killed all the elephants and rhinos," the Maasi joked. He gave a sigh and looked at his friend, finally. It was his first time looking at anyone that day, since that morning. At that moment the wind could be heard swaying the sad-looking trees outside suffering from the drought. "Hopefully it will rain," said the park ranger, changing his gaze to the window outside. The sky was clear blue, dark, with remnants of the setting sun, butt he gust of wind also brought in the vicious heat.
"Hey, Mbaatu, get me some water, will ya?" asked the ranger.
"So what sort of trouble?" asked the concerned friend.
He noticed that his friend was staring in his glass, and his eyes were holding back something very heavy. He had known him for over ten years, when Jakob started working at the park. He was one of the few who ventured out of his Maasi life and joined the government but still worked in the place where he was born and raised, where he loved the animals and the earth that supported all life. He was educated and understood a lot about the natural world as well as the complex social changes that have been driving the changes in this part of the world where poachers, tourists, natives, and corruption all meet and mingle. Charles was a business man, honest by African standards, and he was also passionate about wildlife here, but he made money by helping tourists and tour agencies navigate through all the muck of governments and locals on this border between two of the more stable countries in Africa. He had an office at that big lodge where tourists could feel they were in the heart of Africa without being eaten by its cruelties and idiosyncrasies. Jakob saved Charles and some tourists once when they were dumb enough to wander into this valley of lions.
"Remember that valley? The Seronera?" suddenly the mute park ranger started talking, having given some silent moment in the presence of his friend.
"Of course! You saved my ass, along with the white asses of those Germans, or were they French? They just didn't speak English that well!" said the smiling Kenyan.
"Right. That was also during a dry spell. But not like now. Now even more animals have died. All the rivers have dried up, most of the zebras and wildebeests have either died or migrated, and probably died on their way too," said the ranger, drinking his cold water.
"So?" asked his friend.
"But there are still a few, struggling lions down there. They've licked all the carcasses clean and are struggling with whatever bugs and I don't know what."
He sighed and then looked at the Kenyan, and asked, "Do you remember Mr. Willoughby?" The Kenyan businessman thought for a second and asked, "The old American? Yes, why? I am surprised you know him. He's very quiet and doesn't go out."
Mr. Willoughby. The American. His image, his face, his posture, even his smell, still lingered in Jakob's mind. He looked down at his warming water, and then said, "He's so old. He could barely walk. I noticed him when he arrived in the Lodge; I was there that day trying to get some tourists to go on a tour. I noticed him. His eyes were dark, like someone turned off the light. His face extremely emaciated. And he walked with a slight tremor. He was with this black woman from America too. She had to help him a lot. It was she, I think her name was Tisha, who told me about him."
"About what?" asked the inquisitive Kenyan.
Jakob looked up at his friend and said, in a slightly louder voice, "I can't be a park ranger anymore. I don't know what else to do. But I am not even human, I don't think."
That brought shock to his friend, who sat up straight suddenly, and asked, "What are you talking about?"
"Last night I was hanging out at the Lodge, after bringing some tourists back from the bird show. There aren't many birds left, but they still got a kick out of it. Before I was going to leave, Mr. Willoughby surprised me. He was alone. We had talked before when I was there. He would ask how I was doing, what I did that day, if I liked being an outsider Maasi, telling me I had a great future, or how sad it was that the animals were dying in so many ways. But he always had that Tisha woman with him. This time no. This time also I saw something different. He was usually dressed very slovenly. Not like the other white people. He was very casual, didn't care much, except talking to me about my work and the Park. But that evening he had light in his eyes, very faint. And he shaved too! Wearing a linen shirt. And then he said, 'Jakob. You know about my situation. I know Tisha told you. I know you're a good man.' Then he sat me in a corner table and ordered some food for me. No one has done that for me, and I was feeling strange. He then said, 'I want you to do me a favor. I want you to take me to that valley you told me about? The valley that you saved your friend and some tourists from.' I didn't think much of it, and said, 'Sure. You want to see the last of the lions still there?' 'Yes,' he said, with a bigger smile, greater interest. 'When?' I asked. 'Just before dawn. I want to arrive just before dawn,' he said, 'And Tisha won't be coming. I want to go without her.' 'But what if you get sick, sir? Will you have your medication with you?' He laughed and said, 'I won't need it. I will be fine.' 'But this is your first time out of the lodge, if I am not mistaken>' I asked. 'Yes, it would be good to have some fresh air. It's an important day tomorrow. Did I tell you? I follow this sect of Tibetan Buddhism, and tomorrow is an important day.' I remembered that he told me something about Tibetan, but I didn't quite understand it. So I thought nothing more about it. Still, I was concerned about his health.
"You see," Jakob continues after drinking the rest of his warm water, "He's got leukemia. And he faints sometimes, has no appetite. And I wouldn't know what to do if he did that on the trip. And you know it's a rough ride. He saw I was still concerned about his health, so he put his hand on mine, and said, 'Please do this favor for an old, white man. Money isn't a problem. But I just don't want Tisha to come along. I want to be free. You know it's been nearly twenty year's that I had been taken care of? It was just the cancer. Not just the treatment. But also I had all these other diseases before that. You'd be doing this old body a huge favor by driving me there. Nothing will happen to me. You don't have to worry. I know this broken shack of a body of mine by now. Mornings are never a problem. Especially with that fresh, cool morning air.'
"His assurance worked. And the next morning, I picked him up from the lodge, but from the backdoor, as he had requested, as if he was trying to avoid people. He was wearing a something weird. Some costume or something. He explained on our hour-long trip that it was his priestly robe. He explained that he was actually a priest type in his religion. And today he was 'entering the valley of shadow', which sounded very Christian to me, the little I knew from watching American movies," Jakob said with a fleeting smile. His friend got him another glass of water and he continued, "He then started talking about his religion. About the idea of returning to the universe from which we are born. I told him that after meeting him, I looked into Tibetan culture, got fascinated, and asked him then if the sky burial was related to what he said. Then he had a big smile and said, 'Not exactly. That's what most people in Tibetan culture did. But in his sect, it didn't matter. We are sort of practical since there aren't always vultures hovering over your carcass and ripping it apart.'
"We arrived at the entrance of the valley and then I took into the serengeti, off road, it got rough, though I tried to be gentle, but he didn't seem fazed, just looking into the distance as we entered the valley with little of the twilight helping us. About ten minutes later, I stopped and explained, 'See that troth over there? There used to be a river, now it's all hardened mud. And if you wait a little while, you will see the lionesses.' And I was right. About fifteen minutes later, and Mr. Willoughby had a lot of patience, the shadows started moving around on the other side of the dried river. It was very quiet, this morning. The sun was still another hour away, but you could make things out already. The dried grass was making little hushed sounds. The lionesses knew we were here, but they also knew there wasn't anything interesting because they were used to our impenetrable jeep. Mr. Willoughby then said, 'So beautiful, these ladies, but so dreadfully emaciated.' He was looking through a binocular he took out from his leather bag that I hadn't noticed before.
"Then there was silence again. There were no animals around us, except for those tortured creatures on the other side of the dead river. Then my nightmare began," said the ranger, whose hand started shaking a little, "Mr. Willoughby turned to me and said, in the most calm and serene voice, with his face suddenly looking so much younger, even happier than last night when I saw the light in his eyes for the first time, 'Good bye Jakob. Thanks for everything. You should go home now.'" He put his hands on mine and gripped them tightly to thank me. 'But Mr. Willoughby, what do you mean?' He then took out a wad of American dollars from his bag and said, 'This is what I have left after all the charities and enough for Trisha to live on for the rest of her life. This is for you. I don't need anything, and really, never did. I've been so afraid to walk through the valley of the shadow and only last week I realized I had to. I suddenly had no more fears. I always knew what I needed to do, but my life, so full of nonsense and complexities, built this big wall around me. But now I will return to the universe.' He then turned to grab the handle to open the door, but I grabbed his other arm and implored him, 'What are you doing, sir? I don't understand!' 'Don't stop me, Jakob, please. This is my last wish for the universe. I've suffered for so long in the confines of this world. I only wish to leave now.' I didn't know what to say. I was so shocked. But there was a part of me that was touched by the gentleness of his eyes, of his face, of his smiles. Then he said, 'You're a good man, Jakob. You care about universe, about all the creation, and I am sorry I manipulated you, that I didn't tell you. But I hope eventually you would understand. My body is of no use to anyone except as a decoration for a world that can't imagine its absence just because it exists. A world that doesn't care about my feelings. I willingly give myself to these poor creatures who don't have all these foolish rules of our world. So please, let me be, Jakob.' And he opened the door while my confused arm released his arm. I noticed that at the creaking sound of the hinges of the door the lionesses raised their heads. And when Mr. Willloughby gave me one last wave of goodbye, the lionesses all stood up. But they didn't move, while the shadow of Mr. Willoughby started towards the dried river. I was all in tears and didn't know what to do. Suddenly all my morals and philosophies became helpless onlookers on the sideline, while I was struggling in my confusion. But I had to leave. I couldn't run out there and grab him, not for fear of the lions, as you know, but somewhere in me kept showing me pictures of his smiles, his gentle face, his voice. So I started the engine, turned around, and drove like a mad rhino back to the road and hoped to dear life that I wouldn't hear the savagery that was about to happen."
The outside was now completely dark. People started milling in, many not speaking in English, all locals either finishing with some day tour or getting ready for the night tour. Among the conversations someone was already starting to talk about a missing old white man. The police was involved. But Jakob wasn't afraid of all this. He still thought about the old man's face, his eyes, his smiles; were they now ripped to pieces or ascended somewhere more majestic than this complicated world that made no sense to him anymore. His friend didn't say anything, but he did get him and himself the best Scotch in the house, while they both kept their silence.
